I’ve been waiting for warm summer nights. Reasons to put on light as air summer dresses and stop wearing bras. I swear this dress keeps shrinking a half inch at every wash but I’m short at 5-0 and in my head I still think that’s it’s still covering up at least part of my thighs as long as I don’t throw my hands in the air.
I’m waiting outside Mark’s high rise for him to come down, wondering if the heeled burgundy suede boots are comfortable enough to walk around downtown. It’s a clear gorgeous evening and Im craving a drink.
He comes down in a t-shirt and shorts, more underdressed than his usual, but it still looks good on him. He’s not my normal type at all, mainly because he’s 48. And even though that makes him only four years older than me, since my husband died, I’d become the official mayor of Cougartown, almost exclusively dating boys in their 20’s. But now that my oldest son is 25, it’s become a perverse age gap that I can’t continue, and Mark is only the second person I’ve ever found attractive who was around my age. He has a salt and pepper scruff and shaved head, a stalky build of a man that was once athletic but has made it no longer a priority. Looks wise, he is like any average dad of a teenager, except he’s so much more.